


try to forget it but it won't stop killing you

by reduxreactor



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), i qualify it as angst ok ....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 14:24:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17747534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reduxreactor/pseuds/reduxreactor
Summary: There's one unread message that's taunting him, and all it takes is a single button for him to make a mistake.





	try to forget it but it won't stop killing you

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. this is by no means anything anti/not-steve friendly. i'm not petty enough to be writing hate fic, lol. joke turned to prompt, prompt turned to fic, fic turned to ... whatever this is.  
> 2\. context: this came up due to me sending a screenshot of a design project i worked on last semester to some friends  
>   
> 

_I’ll be there._

 

_I’ll be there._

 

 _I’ll be there?_ Tony thinks, growing more exasperated by the second. _Seriously?_

 

Tony keeps rolling it back. The letter. Replays it in his heads, reads it in Steve’s voice. To think that this is his life, that someone he’d loved — _loves_ — sends him an old-fashioned apology through the mail with a _flip phone_.

 

A fucking flip phone. He thought he taught Steve _better_ than that.

 

Begrudgingly, Steve’s plan, to an extent, works. Tony can’t seem to get rid of the damn thing. Two days with it, and all he can think about is how incapable he is at permanently keeping this piece of junk out of his sight. He can shove it in the drawer of his nightstand, dump it into the trash, and he still finds himself returning with the solid weight in his hand, cursing under his breath as he wipes it off with a cloth. He subconsciously thinks about it all the time, how it could buzz while he’s in the shower or when he’s off making sure Peter doesn’t get himself killed. It doesn’t ring or buzz, of course. He’s had it for _two days_.

 

If anyone asks him what went wrong, he doesn’t even know how to word it other than “differing opinions.” There’s more to it, he knows that, because his emotions got the best of him that day in Siberia, but he knows that disclosing information like that would likely lead to more drama that even Tony’s exhausted of.

 

Logically, he has the right to be upset — to be bitter that he’s been cast aside as the one to blame for the fallout. Unfortunately for himself, he doesn’t blame them. All of his life, people have been _desperate_ to dig up dirt on him, make him appear to be the _villain_ when he’s not (and yet, he believes the words himself). He’s made his mistakes, has far too many years of blood staining his fingers. He’s followed by the ghosts of the deceased who’ve fallen victim to his weapons and his shortcomings, the skeletons that pile up in his closet, already threatening to spill. There may just be a graveyard out there full of people he got killed with his weapons and the people he _failed_ to save, and Tony would grovel at the feet of those ghouls and beg for forgiveness.

 

Knowing that he can’t do that, however, has pushed him toward making better choices. It’s why he stopped the weapons, why he’s focused his work toward helping people build a better future; _I’m a futurist_ , he muses, and Tony worships that at his feet. He sees what’s coming and he prepares.

 

He can’t say that he necessarily saw this _war_ coming, not that someone as close as Steve would end up standing at the opposite side like a bull ready to ram right into him. Tony can’t say he ever prepared himself for the betrayal, but he always had a feeling the shoe would drop, regardless of whether or not they would stand together.

 

Optimistically, yes, he _hoped_ they would do things together.

 

But together only works when there’s compromise. Tony _tried_ to compromise, tried to appeal to Steve in every way he could under the pressure of Secretary Ross breathing down his neck, but it hadn’t been enough then.

 

Now, out of spite, he stares at the flip phone that sits on the metal of his workshop table. Tired eyes narrow in on the device and he thinks he could break down hysterically if he thinks about it any further.

 

_I’ll be there._

 

Tony wonders under what circumstance would Steve’s _I’ll be there_ apply.

 

He glances over at his drink, amber liquid that’s burned down his throat pleasantly these last few days. He’s _tried_ going sober, didn’t take.

 

“Ah — what the hell,” he breathes heavily, fingers scrubbing over his eyes.

 

There’s an unread message that he hasn’t dared to open, that single “1” taunting him. He doesn’t know what the message is, figured that if it were important, Steve would have called. (The thing is, Tony doesn’t know if he would _call_ , if he’d be the one to make the first move.) It feels like the ball is in his court, and Tony … Tony is _Tony_. He’s just as stubborn in certain ways, and he’s not sure he’d want to initiate contact first. However, it seems like he’ll have to. Seems like it’s in his hands. _For the love of God._

 

Fingers grip the phone, thumb sliding over the surface of it in one swift motion. He dips his head and heaves a sigh, as if this’ll prepare him for what he’s going to face. Flipping it open, he already feels the regret creeping up his spine, but he presses those _ridiculously_ tiny buttons until he opens up the unread message.

 

_I meant what I said in the letter, Tony._

 

His eyes scan over the message once, he blinks, and then reads it again. “Could’ve said the same shit to my face, _Steven_ ,” he grumbles, fingers tightening a mite.

 

Tony snaps the phone shut and doesn’t look at it again.

 

Until later that night.

 

He wants to say he hates Steve, hates everything he stands for, everything that he is. Hates him for being more important to Howard. Then he sits down with his glass of scotch and debates the thought, runs it through the dishwasher ten times before coming to the dawning realization that he doesn’t _actually_ hate Steve. Instead, he just finds himself hopelessly, _desperately_ , in love with Steve, and that he never had the chance to tell him, and now it feels absolutely pointless to even try. Instead, he’s left to stifle his feelings with anger and disappointment instead.

 

It takes more liquid courage to try and type out a response.

 

_I meant what I said in the letter, Tony._

 

He stares, stares, and stares.

 

~~_sure._ ~~

 

~~_yeah._ ~~

 

~~_you seriously sent me a fucking letter as an apology?_ ~~

 

Tony’s all about to give up until he ends up typing a “k”.

 

He thinks he may just stare at that for even longer, wonders what it’d be like to send this passive-aggressive text message in response to his almost-lover-ex-friend.

 

In fact, he has absolutely no intention of sending him anything, would much rather not give Steve the satisfaction of it all, _until_ he accidentally presses a little too hard on the send button.

 

Surprisingly enough, the panic doesn’t come (nor the regret). It doesn’t seize at his throat, doesn’t make him claw at it with dull nails. Tony just stares as the message goes through, and then he’s laughing (nearly spills his drink), because he can only imagine the look of bewilderment on Steve’s face. Tony closes his eyes, tips his head back, and lets out a shaky breath.

 

“I’m nothing if not unpredictable. Or predictable. This was probably predictable.” He groans and shakes his head. “Oh, who cares. Rogers will look at it and then roll his eyes and get back to doing his secret world-saving. Right, Dum-E?”

 

Dum-E whirrs and he shakes his head.

 

When the phone lights up an hour later, it turns out that Steve Rogers, in fact, did not just roll his eyes and get back to his secret world-saving duties, but decided to _respond_ instead. Tony considers that maybe sending a “k” really didn’t do anything to fix the burning bridge between them, didn’t do _anything_ for anyone’s benefit at all, other than the momentary pleasurable satisfaction that Tony basked in originally.

 

He’s just created more trouble for himself, and he isn’t sure if he wants to see what this next message consists of — doesn’t want to look at it and find himself sending another message. ~~The phone is for emergencies.~~ Instead, he thinks he can hallucinate, watch an almost-Steve stand at the door to his lab with his arms crossed and a frown on his face.


End file.
